Ropin' the Moon

by Deborah Camp

  “I have a job to do, Custer.” He’d heard enough unsolicited advice. He was sick of it. “If you don’t want to spend the night in a jail cell, then get. I’m giving you thirty seconds before I change my mind and lock you up.”

  “For what?” Custer jeered.

  “For assaulting a peace officer,” Dalton said, glaring across the space at him. “That’s for what.”

  Custer held up his hands again, grinning like a possum, and retreated to the shadows. “See you around, Moon, if you keep breathing.”

  Dalton waited until he heard a horse making tracks before he went into the stable and sought out the comfort of Soldier. He went inside the stall and the big horse butted him gently on his uninjured shoulder. Dalton stroked Soldier’s blazed face and rested his forehead against the animal’s neck.

  “Do you miss old Moses, your stable mate?” he asked, having noticed that the sorrel wasn’t in the first stall anymore. Soldier swished his tail and tossed his head in a fit of agitation that made Dalton wonder if the horse had already sensed his blue mood.

  “I reckon I’m heartsore, big fella,” he whispered, patting the horse’s face and giving him a scratch between his ears. He hadn’t meant to let Lacy burrow under his skin, but what was done was done. He sought and valued her good opinion and now he might have lost it. Damn, that smarted.

  Soldier made a chuffing noise. Dalton gave him another scratch and then backed against the stall wall and slid down to sit in the hay. He could almost imagine his spirit puddled around him like an ink blot. He replayed the confrontation with Trey and his crushing disappointment when Otis Gentry had gone against him. But that was nothing compared to Lacy’s dismay and sadness. Angry tears had glittered in her eyes and had felt like shards of glass piercing his heart. Would she find it in her heart to forgive him for firing Gentry like that and then snapping at her like she was nothing to him?

  Soldier lowered his head and then used his nose to lift Dalton’s hat up and off his head. Grinning up at the horse, Dalton stroked and patted the gelding and tugged on his mane.

  “You’re the only one who understands me, aren’t you, son? Shoot, sometimes I don’t even understand myself. All I know for sure right this minute is that I believe I’ve fallen in love with that gal. And I hurt her. Hell, I might’ve even lost her.” He swallowed the thickness clogging his throat and squeezed his burning eyes shut. He sat there for a good hour, going over and over the shining moments he’d had with Lacy. When he heard quiet steps outside the stall, he blinked away his musings. Was someone trying to ambush him? He rested a hand on Soldier’s muzzle, signaling the horse to keep still.

  Inch by inch, he rose to his feet and rested his palm on his gun handle. Easing to the stall door, he leaned out enough to see a shadow move among the other shadows in the yard between the jail and the stables. Was Custer back to plug him, after all? Or had Gentry come to plead his case? A watery beam of moonlight drenched the figure for a moment, letting him see that it wasn’t Gentry. The man was too tall and too thin.

  Tired of the cat-and-mouse game, Dalton opened the stall door and stalked toward the interloper, his palm still warm on the gun handle even as he hoped he didn’t have to draw it. He stood behind the man, who was stealthily treading toward the back door of the jail.

  “You looking for me?” Dalton asked, and the man whirled, eyes growing as big as sunflowers in his pale face. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded of Forrest Cole.

  Cole’s hand moved to the gun on his hip, but stayed when Dalton shook his head slowly.

  “Don’t,” Dalton said. “I don’t want to kill anyone tonight.”

  Forrest gulped. “I gotta. You have to be stopped. The railroad ain’t good for these parts, but you keep rallying the railroad agents.”

  “The railroad agents don’t work for me. You know that. You know what else? If you draw on me, I’m going to shoot you. If you live, you’ll go to prison. It’s that simple, Cole. Now show some of the sense God gave you and get on back to the Pullman ranch.” When Cole didn’t move; just stood there shaking like a wet dog, Dalton eyed him curiously. “Pullman sent you here to shoot me? You’re thinking that if you go back to the ranch without killing me, he’ll kill you?”

  “You gotta be stopped.” His hand twitched above his gun.

  Dalton’s muscles tensed in response and his heart rate slowed as his vision sharpened. “Cole, don’t do it. If you can’t go back to the ranch without drawing on me, then head somewhere else. Work for someone else. Don’t end your life for Junior Pullman, who thinks you’re not even as valuable as one of his steers. Hell, he won’t even pay to bury you, man.”

  Forrest Cole blinked his big, rounded eyes. Seconds ticked by and then his shoulders lost some of their starch and his hand eased away from his weapon. Dalton breathed a tiny bit easier.

  “But Pullman’s right,” Forrest said. “You gotta discourage those railroad fellas. They’re stirring up too much trouble. They’re gonna get themselves killed.”

  “If they’re murdered, who will be arrested? Junior?” Dalton scoffed. “Mighty unlikely, don’t you agree? You or one of the other hands will be arrested. Why were you sent here? Think, man! He knows you’re not fool enough to draw on me. You don’t have a death wish, do you? You know full well that if you go for your gun, you’re going to taste my lead. So, you’ll head back to the ranch. Someone will shoot at or kill one of the railroad agents and who will I arrest for it, Cole? You. Because you’re the one who came here making threats against them. And you don’t think Junior Pullman has this all figured out?” He saw panic and awareness flit across the man’s lean, narrow face. “If you have a lick of sense, you’ll ride away from here and count your lucky stars that you figured this out before you stepped into the trap Pullman set for you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Forrest murmured, then ran a hand down his face in frustration. “But where will I go?”

  “Anywhere.” Dalton made a sweeping gesture that reminded him of the healing wound on his back. “There is a whole country out there and hundreds of ranchers looking for herders. Take it from me, Far Creek is nothing special and the Pullman Ranch is just like every other spread, except that most ranchers aren’t as crazy as loons and as mean as wild boars like Junior.”

  As Forrest Cole glanced around, his eyes glimmering in the pale light and his Adam’s apple bobbing, Dalton felt a twinge of pity for him.

  “Go on, Cole,” he urged. “Get on your horse and find a better life for yourself. Don’t let it end here.”

  Without another word, Forrest turned and slouched away, merging into the shadows and vanishing like a ghost. Dalton went into the stables to retrieve his hat. He closed the stall door and checked on Soldier one more time before he crossed the yard and went into the jail. It was strange seeing both cells empty. And it was quiet as a tomb without Gentry snoring and spluttering in his sleep.

  He was grateful for Thumper’s company. Sitting behind the desk, he went over scenarios, one after the other, as to what Pullman might do next and how he’d respond. He figured that Junior wouldn’t do anything else until after the Leaguers meeting. Dalton had until then to make his own plan that would end this standoff and his stay in Far Creek.

  The League meeting held no surprises. Dalton stood at the back of the dining room where the Leaguers had congregated in Junior Pullman’s home. He memorized each face, recognizing some of the ranchers but not others. A few businessmen attended. From their nervous and strained expressions, Dalton figured they’d been goaded into it by Junior and weren’t actually part of the League.

  Hostility permeated the room when the railroad agents, Morey Steiner and Edward Shoal, addressed the group, explaining that their work was preliminary and that anyone whose property might be affected would be notified personally and offered a fair amount for land used by the railroad. They insisted that cattle herds hadn’t been adversely affected by railroad tracks running through grazing land. Cattle might be spooked at firs
t, but they settled down and paid little attention to railroad workers or the eventual trains.

  After taking a few questions, the agents thanked the Leaguers and said they looked forward to meeting each one individually. Then Pullman had taken over with his smirk firmly in place. He’d called the agents liars, cheaters, and backstabbers. He warned them that they were never to trespass on his land or they would be shot. Junior made sure to stare across the heads of the seated guests to where Dalton stood near the doorway in a challenge that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room. He said that no one in or near Far Creek wanted the railroad tearing up good cattle land. The other ranchers nodded and muttered, “That’s right,” and “Y’all need to git.”

  The meeting broke up with the agents hanging around for a few minutes, attempting to shake hands, but getting cold, hard glares and not much else. Dalton walked out with the two men and they mounted their horses and rode away.

  “No matter what they say or how many threats they hurl at us, they aren’t stopping the railroad,” Steiner said, adjusting his glasses higher up on the bridge of his long nose.

  “Nothing and no one stops the railroad,” Shoal agreed. He cupped a gloved hand around a match he’d struck and lit the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Even jackasses like Pullman.” He got the smoke going and waved out the match before tossing it. “He really does think he rules this town, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s made people afraid to cross him,” Dalton agreed, sweeping the area with his gaze and watching for anything out of place. He wouldn’t put it past Pullman to try something. “Some of them owe him money, some of them owe him favors, and most of them have seen what happens to their neighbors who don’t obey him. They get beat up, beat down, and their businesses and homes go up in smoke.”

  Steiner stared at him, mouth agape, and his brows meeting above his serious, brown eyes.

  Shoal blew a smoke ring up toward the stars. “You think he shot you in the back, Moon?”

  “I don’t think he pulled the trigger, but I have no doubt that he had something to do with it.”

  “Lord God,” Steiner whispered. “He needs to be locked up.”

  “I’m ready to do just that if I can catch him breaking the law,” Dalton assured him. “But he’s slippery. He talks other weasels into standing up on their hind legs to do his dirty work.” He hadn’t seen Forrest Cole at the meeting and he hoped the man had taken his advice.

  “Pullman is a problem,” Shoal said. “And we appreciate your help with him, Moon. When our boss heard that you were the new marshal, he was relieved. You have a good reputation as a lawman. Hiring you was the best thing Mayor Stover could have done for Far Creek.”

  “I appreciate your support,” Dalton said, feeling proud and a bit embarrassed by the praise. “I admit that this has been more than I’d bargained for. I’d heard about Junior Pullman being a tyrant and all, but until I met him, I didn’t realize that he was run through with evil. He has no qualms about ruining people’s lives as long as he gets what he wants.”

  They rode on, each lost in his own thoughts. Dalton felt a modicum of relief when they finally left Pullman’s land and were on the final mile or two to Far Creek.

  “You planning on staying here for a spell, Marshal?” Shoal asked, breaking the silence.

  “No. I’ll be moving on.” He tried to shake off the weight that settled on his heart. “Once Pullman backs off, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Do you think he’ll back off?” Steiner asked. “He didn’t seem to be wavering any.”

  “Like any problem, this one will come to a head. He’s tossed out his threats and fired off his warning shots. He’ll try to get rid of me for good, and when he fails at that, he’ll lose face. It’ll show that he’s vulnerable and can be beaten. That will be the beginning of the end for him.”

  “Sounds like you’ve seen this happen before,” Shoal said.

  “People can put up with someone standing on their necks for just so long before they rebel. The leaders of Far Creek hired me because they’re ready to confront Pullman and break his hold on their town. We’re almost at the tipping point.”

  Steiner leaned forward in the saddle, peering through his thick glasses. “Who is that on the road ahead of us?”

  Dalton recognized the distinctive markings on the horse. What in the hell was Lacy doing out here? He kicked Soldier into a gallop, eating up the road. Moonlight caught the sparkles in her eyes and drenched her blond braid in silver. As he drew up next to her, he saw that her cheeks were damp and her eyes were red-rimmed.

  “What’s happened? Is it your uncle?” Dread coated his heart as he reached out to cover her gloved hand where it rested on the saddle horn.

  “No, not him.” She swallowed and her voice emerged strained. “Some men found Forrest Cole’s body washed up on the creek bank a few hours ago. He’d been shot between the eyes.”

  Dalton turned his head away from her as a curse pushed past his lips. Steiner and Shoal rode up.

  “Something wrong?”

  “One of Pullman’s hires was murdered and dumped in the creek. His body was found,” Dalton said, letting his hand slip off of Lacy’s.

  “Sorry to hear that.” Steiner touched the brim of his brown, derby hat. “Ma’am. Was he kin to you?”

  “No. I . . . I knew him.” She swiped at her eyes. “He was young. Only twenty-three.”

  Shoal lit another cigarette, the flame of his match illuminating his scowl. “Surely, Pullman had nothing to do with it. He worked for him.”

  “Pullman had everything to do with it,” Dalton said. “Cole didn’t carry out one of his orders and that’s why he’s dead.”

  “What orders?” Lacy asked.

  “To shoot me.”

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Forrest? He wouldn’t.”

  Dalton quirked an eyebrow. “He didn’t, as you can see. I told him to leave town. Right then. And not to look back. We both knew that his goose was cooked if he returned to Pullman with me still breathing.” He didn’t go into his other theory about the railroad men being killed and Cole blamed for it. No need to plant that worry in the men at this juncture.

  Lacy brought her knuckles to her mouth and her eyes glimmered again with unshed tears. “Junior Pullman is the devil himself,” she whispered. “Forrest must have gone back to the ranch.”

  “Probably thought that Pullman would give him a second chance or understand why he couldn’t murder a lawman and get away with it.” Aggrieved by the turn of events, Dalton nodded toward town. “Let’s go. You shouldn’t be out here alone, Lacy.”

  “I needed to find you. To know that you’re okay.” She swatted Cry Baby’s neck and the horse broke into a canter. “Tonight was that League meeting and I thought there might be trouble. Then they found Forrest and I . . . I just –.” She glanced over her shoulder at the railroad agents. “How’d the meeting go?”

  “About what you’d expect.”

  “Then what was the point?” She flung up a hand in a gesture of pure aggravation. “Nothing changes. Pullman always wins.”

  “You haven’t lost all faith in me, have you, Lacy?” He looked sideways at her and the moonlight allowed him to see the downturn of her mouth. She flicked her long braid back over her shoulder, her action full of frustration. “I hope not,” he added. “I know I’ve disappointed you. Made you mad. But I’m on your side, darlin’, and I’m doing my best.” He was surprised to see her eyes brim with tears again.

  “I know you are,” she said in a voice that went straight to his heart. “But I don’t want your body to be the next one someone finds floating in the creek.” Her gaze bounced to him and away before she kicked Cry Baby into a gallop, leaving him and the other two men behind.

  Dalton and the agents were only minutes behind her as they entered Far Creek. His first thought was finding Lacy, but he needed to settle down first. The news of Forrest Cole made him feel raw, anxious, angry. He bade the agents a good night, leavin
g them at the hotel while he went into the saloon. Dutch was behind the bar and waved him closer.

  “You heard about Cole?”

  Dalton nodded and motioned for a whiskey. “Lacy told me.” He downed the liquor in one gulp, appreciating the line of fire that warmed him inside. “Only a buzzard feeds on his own flock.”

  Dutch poured him another whiskey. “You think it was Pullman, do you?”

  “On his orders. Maybe he actually pulled trigger.” He tossed back the second whiskey and it was better than the first one. “Did they take Cole to the undertaker’s?”

  “They did.” Dutch held up the bottle, but set it down when Dalton shook his head. “Only bad habit that boy had was following the wrong men, okay?”

  “Junior Pullman will answer for it.”

  “Lacy rode out to find you. I tried to stop her, but you know how she is.”

  “I do.” Stubborn. Headstrong. Beautiful. His? Dalton reached into his pocket for a couple of coins and flipped them onto the bar. “Thanks, Dutch.” He turned away in time to see Lacy walk past the batwing doors. Like a hound on the hunt, he went after her, catching up to her before she could enter the hotel. He snagged her elbow on its backswing and pulled her around to face him.

  “What’s this?”

  He gripped her upper arm and walked her with him into the nearest alley, backing her against the outside wall. “This is me still wanting you. Needing you.” Unable to resist her lips another moment, he kissed her. She parted her lips and his tongue slipped in to court hers. He whispered her name and his body tensed, stiffened, ached. The taste of her almost did him in. She was sweet and tart, like strawberry wine. He kissed her again and again, each one more demanding than the last. He wanted to be skin to skin with her. Over her. Inside her. It would be sheer heaven and better than anything he’d known.